


Untouched

by MyckiCade



Series: As Water Consuming the Bridge [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 23:01:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2599706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyckiCade/pseuds/MyckiCade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was the last untarnished piece of their bloodied and rusted chessboard. A lone knight. Gotham’s only hope. Oswald wasn’t entirely sure he was willing to knock Gordon off his horse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untouched

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Gotham. I am not that clever. This work is for fan enjoyment only. No infringement is intended.
> 
> Author’s Note: It wouldn’t leave me alone, okay? This ship is outstanding, like that. Truly. ~ <3 ~. (P.S. I’ll admit that this was written, rather quickly, so… My apologies for any mishaps!).

The steady  _beep, beep, beep_  of the monitors was the only noise in room, an eerie, foreboding cadence that reminded Oswald of just what had brought him here, in the first place. Hardly concerned with the time, it was with little astonishment that he looked to the clock, only to discover that he had been in the same chair for nearly three hours. His initial presence had surprised the nurses. Harvey Bullock had glared at him, but merely asked for an update. Then, Barbara… Well. The last had nearly been the spark of a fueled debate about ‘criminals allowed during visiting hours’. Which he had won, for the record. The memory left him smirking, now, how the woman had looked at him with spite, and spoke to him with venom. No one was innocent, not even precious Barbara.

Glancing back to the hospital bed, from where his eyes had strayed, Oswald’s smirk fell right off of his face. Guilt, while undeniable in most, wasn’t a staple of the life and existence of Detective James Gordon. Still, here he lay, with monitors stuck to his skin, and oxygen to aid his breathing. All because Gotham’s White Knight had decided to be a hero, again.

Reaching forward to brush a thumb over James’ forehead, Oswald knew that that wasn’t the truth. The GCPD, the media, friends and family… That was what they all saw, a man trying to be a hero. They didn’t see, didn’t understand that, at the heart of it all, James Gordon wasn’t a man playing at anything. James  _was_  a hero, start to finish, from the time that he opened his eyes in the morning, until he closed them at whatever ungodly hour the City granted him any rest. Even in his sleep, James couldn’t seem to let it go, his arms wound ‘round Oswald, so protectively, it made the younger man’s heart ache. All of that sacrifice, the dedication and effort… And, who truly appreciated it? Those who did were so few and far between, they were practically invisible. James may not have been in it for the praise and gratitude, but, it wouldn’t have hurt a couple of people to thank him for what he did for them.

When so much worry over the man had settled in, Oswald wasn’t sure. The plan of action had never included all of this… sentiment. James Gordon had been the means to an end, Oswald’s personal escape plan, a sort of ‘in case of emergency, break glass’ policy. He was the last untarnished piece of their bloodied and rusted chessboard. A lone knight. Gotham’s only hope. He needed the man in his corner,  _before_  the chips fell. Build up Gordon’s credibility, and use it to his own advantage.

The only thing that had ended up standing in the way, was himself. Oswald wasn’t entirely sure he was willing to knock Gordon off his horse. When all was said and done, he didn’t. Couldn’t. James had done so much for him, putting himself on the danger line, saving him, time and again… Then, for Oswald  _still_ to come out of his wrong-doings, clean? It was more than anyone else had ever done for him (save for his Mother). For that, alone, James deserved better than to be used.

Granted, he deserved better than a bullet to the chest, as well. Yet, all it took was one drug-addled member of society with a loaded gun to toss that all to hell. Thankfully, the shot had been terribly sloppy, missing anything that would have lead to permanent damage. Still, the thought left Oswald’s mind spinning, in fury. Oh, whoever was responsible for this was going to pay, and dearly so. That individual had already been granted ample time to walk around, without consequence. With a final glance to the clock, Oswald rose from his chair, and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to James’ forehead.

“I’ll be back, shortly, James,” he murmured, quietly. “This won’t take long.” He had full faith in his own words. Someone had shot a cop, and tongues would surely be wagging over the details. Not that the Department would be of any use. They never were, not without James. That left the important work to the unassuming young man with the unfortunate limp. It would be easy, and so, so satisfying.

Oswald turned for the door, making his way from the room, his intentions slowly consuming his thoughts. If the City of Gotham wouldn’t take care of James Gordon, Oswald would gladly do so, himself.


End file.
